


The Space Between

by catchsparks



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-31
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-28 11:32:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7638457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catchsparks/pseuds/catchsparks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Annabeth rolls her eyes, stands on her toes and brushes a quick kiss to his jaw, before heading toward the Big House to find Chiron. Percy watches her go, trying to ignore the unease settling in his chest. They are two days from the ten year anniversary of The Fall, and he’s waiting to open his eyes and find out the last decade has been a lie, that they’ve been wandering through Tartarus this whole time, chasing some delusion of surviving.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Space Between

**i.**

 

The war is won. Gaea is no longer an imminent threat. The doors of death are sealed. He and Annabeth are alive. It’s over.

At least, that’s what he keeps telling himself.

Percy has never been so exhausted in his life. Everything in his body hurts, and he thinks he would definitely rather carry the world on his shoulders for the rest of his years than live with the weight of Tartarus threatening to crush him for another second.

His mother is a mess -- she’s all tears and gasps and tight hugs and unfinished sentences. He blinks back tears of his own as Sally turns her focus to Annabeth, running her finger along a fading mark on Annabeth’s jaw. 

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” his mother whispers as she pulls Annabeth into another hug, and he watches in defeat as his girlfriend finally cracks. Her arms wind tightly around Sally and he can see her shoulders heave as she gasps for breath against his mom's embrace.

Paul stands to the side, clutching the forgotten tv remote in his hand as he watches the scene unfold, jaw clenched with worry for his wife. Percy is grateful that he hasn’t said anything, hasn’t made a move to hug him, because he’s not ready to crack -- not yet.

“Do you need anything?” Paul asks softly over Sally’s murmurs to Annabeth. Percy has no idea what she’s saying, but every now and then he can hear Annabeth whisper a response that causes his mother to pull her closer.

“A shower,” Percy admits, because he doesn’t know what else to say.

“I’ll put some extra towels in the guest bath.”

Percy watches him walk away. When he focuses his attention on his mom and Annabeth again, they’re disentangling themselves from what he’s certain is the world’s longest hug; both with glassy eyes and damp cheeks. 

“I’m going to take a shower,” Percy says, because he doesn’t want to cry. “Unless you need to go first?”

“You first. You look like crap, Seaweed Brain.” She tries forcing a smile.

He forces one back.

 

* * *

He’s fighting sleep on the couch when he hears the bathroom door creak open. 

“Percy?”

“In here,” he says, forcing his body into an upright position and peering down the hallway. Annabeth follows his voice, passed his open bedroom and into the living room. She stops in front of him, attention drawn to the sudden noise in the kitchen.

“Cookies?”

“Cookies,” he affirms, watching as she towels at her curls. She’s wearing a pair of his basketball shorts and an old t-shirt that’s too short for him now. 

Sally emerges from the kitchen with a plate piled full of blue cookies. He smiles at her, despite the fact that his appetite is literally non-existent.

“There’s more cooling on the counter for later,” she says as Percy takes the warm plate from her hands. She opens her mouth as if she wants to say something else, but stops, offering a smile instead. He knows she wants to fix this for him - for both of them - to do more than offer blue cookies as solace. He wishes he knew how to tell her that just seeing her face was enough, that letting his girlfriend cry on her shoulder was more than enough, but he thinks Sally already knows all this, too.

“Thank you,” Annabeth says, taking a bite from a cookie. He can tell from her posture that she’s not really hungry either, but faking it means one less thing for Sally to worry about so Percy follows her lead.

A few moments pass with Sally taking turns watching both of them, and he can see her eyes start to shine. He steels himself, waiting for the fissure creeping through his ribcage to burst, but Sally saves the day, again.

“Okay, I’m going to head to bed. If either of you need anything, please don’t hesitate,” she urges, pulling Annabeth into a firm hug before leaning down to brush Percy’s still damp hair from his eyes. She presses a kiss to his cheek. “I love you.”

“Love you, too,” he murmurs as she rushes down the hall, no doubt to cry more over the fact that her son has been MIA for more months than he cares to count and that he showed up quite literally looking like hell.

Annabeth sits down next to him, thigh pressed firmly against his as she finishes her cookie. He tosses his, half-eaten, to the side of the pile.

“She didn’t make up the pallet on the couch for you,” Annabeth notes.

It hadn’t even occurred to Percy that they were back under his mother’s roof, where sleepovers meant Annabeth took his bed and he huddled up on the couch. Nights of waiting for Coach Hedge to fall asleep before Annabeth retreated to his cabin with her Yankees cap had spoiled him. Now, after everything, he can’t even imagine the prospect of sleep without her pressed against him.

The thought strikes something in him that hurts, that stings down to his very core. And maybe it’s because he’s been holding everything in since he grabbed her hand and tumbled in after her, since he saw Annabeth’s face when he nearly choked Akhyls, since he watched Bob go, saw the doors close, and listened to them tell him they won.

The pain travels from his chest to his throat and before he can swallow it down, he hears himself gasp for air. He buries his face against Annabeth’s wet curls and wraps his arms around her so tightly that he’s sure he’s hurting her, but he needs her to know he will never let go.

She twists in his grip, angling herself so that she can lay back on the couch, and she digs her hands into his back and wraps her legs around his waist to pull him with her, so that half his weight is on her and the other half is wedged into the crack between the cushions and the back of the sofa. His tears are hot, and they burn when they fall from his eyes and travel down his cheeks and into Annabeth’s hair and onto her shoulder.

They stay like this for what feels like hours, both of them crying and scraping and pushing against each other just to feel that the other one is there. Percy is so tired but he’s so afraid to sleep, so afraid that if he shuts his eyes against the light of the living room that he’ll be back there in the dark void of Tartarus when he opens them. But Annabeth’s hands are circling the sore muscles in his back, tracing patterns and maps against his flesh as she travels down to where his Achilles spot was. It’s the most comforting thing he’s ever felt, among other things, and he’s losing the battle to keep his eyes open.

“I love you,” he tells her, over and over again when he knows that sleep is imminent and nightmares are likely. “I love you.”

“I love you,” she tells him, digging her fingers into his skin harder to let him know she won’t let go if he doesn’t. “I love you.”

It’s over. 

At least, that’s what he keeps telling himself.

 

* * *

**ii.**

 

Percy can handle the yelling. He can handle the sarcastic rebuttals and the eye rolls and the crossed arms and the tight frowns - it’s the silence that breaks him.

He doesn’t particularly like to fight, but it happens, and he’s learned there are different levels to the arguments he and Annabeth have.

Aside from bickering - which he's figured out long ago is just another form of communication for them - there are disagreements that never amount to anything, spats that end as quickly as they start, fights that can take anywhere from a few hours to a whole day to resolve, and then there are the all out blowups that Percy is sure they have their godly parentage to thank for.

But even when Annabeth is screaming at him, throwing her hands up as he gestures defensively; even when he thinks it has escalated to a point where he’s sure Athena and Poseidon would be proud, he can still deal, because it’s better than the silence.

He runs his hands through his messy hair, unsure of how the night devolved into this. Paul’s plans to whisk Sally away on a surprise weekend getaway usually equalled total bliss for Annabeth and him, except this particular trip also marked one year after The Fall.

One year later should’ve been symbolic of survival, of progress. Instead, their nightmares had gotten progressively worse and emotions had been running high all week. The tension between them wound tighter and tighter and tighter, finally snapping less than hour into their weekend together.

First, Annabeth was late, which never happened. She’d told him she would be at the brownstone by 6:30. At 6:45, he was concerned. At 7:02, he was increasingly worried. At 7:18, he was in a full-fledged state of panic and marching toward the door with Riptide in his hand, when she finally knocked and breezed inside like nothing was amiss.

“Going somewhere?” She’d asked, one eyebrow arched.

Her nonchalance ignited the panic already coursing through his veins into frustration, but he tried to be reasonable.

“I tried to call you,” he deadpanned. “I was just worried.”

“I can handle myself, you know. I don’t need you charging into battle every single time you think I’m in danger.”

Their eyes met and it had only escalated from there.

He barely remembers the things they’ve said or the insults they’ve traded. He just knows the longer it keeps up, the more he feels the ghost of her fingers clenching around his wrist as they hang from that ledge all over again. 

He’s angry at her, for the first time in what feels like forever, which means she’s even angrier at him. 

“You are literally too stubborn to even see where I’m coming from,” he says, gesturing wildly. 

“Stubborn and right are two entirely different things, Percy.”

He rolls his eyes. “Of course, because Annabeth Chase can never be wrong, right? I guess I’m just the idiot boyfriend who tried to plan a weekend with his girlfriend so that we didn’t have to suffer through any more nightmares alone, but I forgot you don’t need anyone’s help.”

She starts to reply, lips parted and eyes narrowed in a way that means she’s about to tear him apart, but she stops, and a look of defeat washes over her face. His heart rate starts to slow, and he feels the anger boiling beneath his skin turn to something close to fear.

“Yeah,” she says simply, voice flat and devoid of any emotion. 

He remains still, jaw set and hands clenched at his sides, and watches as she sits down on the couch and picks up a book his mom’s been reading from the coffee table. A part of him is infuriated at her actions, but that part of him is dwarfed by the part that knows they’ve breached fighting and are now in the mostly uncharted blowout territory. 

“That’s it?” He presses, trying to inflect as much fury into his voice as possible, but he fails. “You’re just going to read a stupid book and not talk this out with me?”

She responds by flipping a page and he clenches his jaw, side stepping the table and heading for the kitchen. He pulls the door to the refrigerator open a little too roughly and cringes when he feels the hinges groan, because the last thing he needs to do is break a major appliance. He loosens his grip and scans the contents, not really registering anything he’s looking at. He’s not hungry. He’s not thirsty. He’s transitioning from angry to sad and he doesn’t know how to react other than to unnecessarily slam and bang things around, as if it will prove a point.

He stands there with the door open, hoping she’s silently annoyed at the fact that he’s letting all the cool air out or whatever, until he hears the door to his bedroom open and shut (quietly, because Annabeth doesn’t slam doors).

He leans his head against the top part of the fridge, relishing the cool air against his forehead. His throat feels tight and he knows his cheeks are red from the fading anger. His body is thrumming with energy and he wants to run away, to go beat the hell out of someone in the training arena or try his record on the climbing wall -- anything to wear his mind and his body out. Instead, he walks to the couch and sits down in the spot she left vacant, huffing as the scent of lemons and her perfume faintly swirl around him. He fights the urge to smile; if he can remain angry, it’s easier. If she wants to guilt him for worrying about her and make this weekend more miserable than it needs to be, then so be it, he thinks.

He stares at the clock above the tv; it’s roughly 9:20 on a Friday night, less than three hours until one year later. He’d hoped they would be too wrapped up in each other at this point to notice.

“So much for that,” he grumbles to himself, kicking his feet up on the coffee table and turning the tv on.

 

* * *

 

It’s Annabeth who finally relents a couple of hours later, padding down the hall with a scowl on her face that dissolves as soon as she sees he’s fallen asleep sitting up, clutching a decorative throw pillow like he’s trying to strangle it or make it stay. She sighs, leaning over the couch from behind him and brushing a few strands of his unmanageable hair out of his face.

“You drool when you sleep.” She presses her lips to his ear, hoping it’s enough of a peace offering.

He stirs, shaking his head as he becomes aware of his surroundings. His tired eyes meet hers, and she knows he’s wondering why he’s on the couch and remembering all at once. She waits for his sleepy look to turn into a scowl, but he wipes at his mouth instead, checking to see if he’s really been drooling. It tugs at her heart and she makes her way around the couch, sitting at the other end so there’s a cushion in between them. 

He stares at her, noting that she’s still in the sundress she intended to wear to dinner with her golden curls swept over one shoulder. She’s absolutely stunning, which isn’t unusual, but he really wishes he’d taken the time to tell her that before all the yelling and the sulking.

“Why are you so far away?” He asks.

“Because,” she starts, looking down at her legs to pick at the fabric of her dress before holding his gaze. Her eyes are dark, like the sky after a storm has wrecked the earth. It’s fitting, really.

“Because?” He presses when she continues to stall.

“I’m sorry,” she admits. “I’m sorry that I picked a fight with you and that I made you worry. It’s just that you seemed so  _ excited  _ about this weekend and I feel like I’m barely holding it together. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” 

“Annabeth - “

“I’m just so tired, Percy,” she cuts him off, voice barely above a whisper. “It’s been a year and sometimes I wonder if we ever really got out of there; if we’ll ever start to feel better.”

He watches her shoulders slump and it makes him clench his jaw that she feels so defeated, that they both feel so defeated in the wake of a war that was never theirs to begin with.

“I’m tired, too,” he says. There’s so much more he wants to say to her, so much he wants to tell her about how she’s the strongest person he’s ever known, that’s he’s not holding it together any better than she is, how he’s scared of himself and what he thinks he’s capable of. She meets his eyes, and he hopes she knows all of this, hopes she knows just how much he loves her and how willing he is to follow her back into the pits of Tartarus if that is where they’re headed.

His gaze jolts something alive in Annabeth. She breaches the space between them and he catches his hands on her hips, squeezing firmly as she presses her weight against him. Her lips are at his ear, his jaw, his neck, before her teeth scrape against his bottom lip and he feels the pent up angry energy from earlier pulse through his body as his hands roam, rucking her dress higher up her hips.

He thinks of a year prior, on the same couch, of gasping for air against her as he felt the weight of Tartarus threaten to break him in two, to break them both in two. 

Annabeth sits up, reaching behind her back and fumbling with the clasp to her dress for all of a second before she gets it undone and reaches for the bottom hem, pulling it off in one fluid motion. Percy’s attention is solely on her, as it always is, but he catches a glimpse of the clock before Annabeth’s head dips back to his neck and her hands slide under his shirt.

12:07.

One year later, the weight of Tartarus still bears down, but they’re pushing back.

 

* * *

 

 

**iii.**

Percy is sweating.

Annabeth can feel the heat radiating from him despite the chill of the AC filling their tiny apartment, but it’s his shivering that’s woken her up.

She reaches behind her, intending to place a comforting hand on him and jerks away when she feels that he’s covered in sweat.

“If you’re sick again, I swear to the gods…” Her complaint is forgotten as soon as she rolls over, the lights from the still bustling city outside giving her just enough visibility to see that something is not right.

He’s on his stomach, arms thrust beneath his pillow with his face buried in the mattress. A thick sheen of sweat coats his bare back, and every few seconds his body jerks involuntarily. It’s been months since either one of them has had a nightmare like this, their birthdays and anniversary having come and gone with little distress from either of them. 

Annabeth touches his shoulder, gently nudging him. He mumbles something into the mattress and spasms again. He’s ridiculously tense, to the point she can make out the veins in his arms, as if he’s carrying something.

“Percy, wake up,” she urges, sitting up fully. She doesn’t want to push him too hard, knowing that any movement like that will only startle him more once he does get awake.

He sucks in a deep breath and she hears him sniffle, crying into the mattress.

She climbs onto his back, wrapping her arms around his body the best she can in an attempt to hold on in case he sits up swinging.

“Percy, please,” she begs, pressing her weight against his sweat-slicked back. “It’s just a nightmare.”

She risks shaking him one more time and he tenses again, his arms shooting out to push himself off the bed as he gasps for air, whimpering into the sheets.

“It’s me! It’s me!” She shouts as he flails for a second longer, before registering who is attached to his back. He stills, letting his body sink back into the bed. She feels his muscles contract beneath her, relaxing as his heart rate slows down.

They lay like this for a few minutes, Percy steadying his breathing as Annabeth remains on top of him, running her fingers through his wet hair and scratching gently at his scalp.

“I’m okay,” he whispers, and she can tell his nose is clogged from the crying.

“Okay,” she says, but doesn’t move. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He exhales. “Please don’t make me.”

Something about his tone almost makes her relent, but she shakes her head against his back, propping her chin into his shoulder blade. “That wasn’t part of our deal.”

He scoffs, reaching around to swat at her. She catches his hand easily, running her thumbs over his knuckles and pressing a kiss to his fingers. 

“You were so tense,” Annabeth murmurs against his hand. “I haven’t seen you get like that in a while.”

“I haven’t had one that bad in a while,” he sighs. “Guess the third year’s not the charm after all.”

His voice is gravelly, and the attempt at joking it off is more feeble than usual. She wonders if he was drowning or falling or losing her.

She starts to slide off him and back onto her side of the bed so they can face each other, but he catches her arm to keep her in place.

“Stay? I’ll tell you, just...stay.”

“Okay,” she agrees, settling her bare torso against his back and stretching her arms over his. He flexes his hands open so her fingers fit between his and he squeezes gently.

“Choking,” he mumbles softly.

“You were choking? Drowning?” 

“No,  _ I _ wasn’t choking,” he clarifies. “We were back there, with the death mist.”

Annabeth shuts her eyes. She can see it as if it’s happening in real time. The rage in Percy’s eyes, the way he held his hands out to manipulate the mist against her, compelled by the gurgling sounds Akhyls made as she struggled to breathe. She thinks of the fear she felt, of the anger she harbored for making her feel that way about him, for worrying about his need to seek revenge against those who had hurt them. She thinks of how tense his arms were, and it all makes sense.

“Except,” he continues, shakily. “I guess when you were trying to wake me up...I don’t know, Annabeth, it changed from her to you and I couldn’t make it stop. I couldn’t wake up and - “

She pulls her fingers from his and rolls to her side of the bed. He’s frozen for a moment, thinking he shouldn’t have told her the truth, when she shoves his shoulder as hard as she can. Percy grips the sheets, steadying himself from falling off the bed at the force of her push.

“Percy Jackson, you stop that right now,” she scolds.

He blinks back at her blearily in stunned silence. She folds her arms across her bare chest, and glares at him with as much intensity as she can muster at two in the morning. It makes his spine go rigid.

“I have never once been afraid of you hurting me. Ever.” Her voice is stern, and he braces himself for another shove. “Have I been concerned about what you might do to those who try to hurt me or our friends and family? Yes, we’ve been there, had that discussion, dealt with it.”

“I know,” he swallows. “I just - “

“No,” she interrupts him. “I’m sorry for your nightmare, and I will sit up with you all night if that’s what you need, but do not start beating yourself up about whether you could or could not hurt me. I could take your ass any day of the week, Jackson. Got it?”

“Got it,” he says, because he believes her, because he needs to believe her for his own sake, so that he can get the image of Annabeth suffering at his hands out of his mind.

“Good. Now get dressed, we’re getting ice cream,” she tells him, as she gets to her feet in search of a bra and clothes to wear. 

Percy follows suit and she watches him closely. She knows what guilt feels like, she feels it creep into her ribcage every time she thinks that she should have just let go of his hand that day. There would be no Akhyls for Percy to worry about, no need for a nightlight at 20 years old, no need for 2 a.m. ice cream runs to assuage three year old wounds.

What ifs are a dangerous game to play.

They stumble out onto the sidewalk toward the 24 hour ice cream shop a few blocks away, tired, but determined. Ice cream had become a post-nightmare tradition since moving into the apartment, especially considering Sally’s blue cookies never lasted longer than a few days. Percy keeps a slight distance from Annabeth; he’s still tense, unsure, even as he makes conversation about what flavors he’s going to get. She winds her hand under his shirt, hooking two fingers through his belt loop as her thumb brushes across his old Achilles spot. 

His pace slows a little and he wraps his arm over Annabeth’s shoulders, pulling her into his body and pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“I’m going for three scoops,” he says confidently, and Annabeth presses her face into his arm and smiles.

She feels the weight lift a little as she breathes him in.

 

* * *

 

 

**iv.**

Annabeth is not drunk.

She is most definitely, 100%, not drunk.

At least, that’s what she tells herself as she carefully climbs down from the karaoke stage with Piper’s body weight draped across her shoulders, all in the heels Piper and Rachel had been insistent she wear.

The crowd at the bar is cheering and throwing money their way, and Piper pushes away from Annabeth and forces them both to curtsy. The whole thing causes Annabeth to giggle, which sends Piper into a fit of hysterics that nearly leaves both of them face first on what Annabeth is willing to wager is one of the filthiest floors in New York City.

“Nicely done, ladies. This will definitely buy a few more rounds!” Rachel waves the crumpled wad of bills at them. 

“Charmspeak?” Annabeth asks.

“Raw talent,” Piper corrects her. “Plus, we’re hot so that helps.”

“Cheers to that!” Rachel calls, setting down another tray of shots glasses filled with clear liquid.

Piper downs hers before Annabeth, Katie, Hazel, or Rachel even have time to reach for their glasses. They all share a look and toast each other, as five girls from the Aphrodite cabin head for the stage to sing Spice Girls.

The shot burns, as the last two have, but the warmth that spreads through Annabeth’s body after it’s done is worth it. She’s relaxed, focused on Piper’s pre-bachelorette party and her friends, and not the fact that they’re merely two weeks away from the fifth anniversary of The Fall.

“Let’s send a photo to Jason.”

“Pipes, this is literally the thousandth time you’ve said that,” Annabeth tries, but is pulled into the group selfie anyway. She smiles as Piper snaps two photos, pressing a kiss to Annabeth’s cheek in the last one.

“He misses me!” She defends, as she sends the photos off to probably everyone they know. Annabeth almost misses when technology was something demigods were basically forbidden to use. Almost. “Besides, this is my bachelorette party and I can do what I want.”

“This is your  _ pre-bachelorette party _ ,” Katie corrects her. “Which isn’t even a thing.”

“It is so a thing,” Piper slurs. “It’s the pre-game to the actual bachelorette party, duh.”

“Or it’s that your dad had a big movie premiere and you wanted an excuse to come visit us.” Rachel shrugs, sliding another shot toward Piper. “A toast! A  _ real  _ toast this time,” she deadpans and Hazel grabs for the shot.

“I think she means wait until we’re finished talking, then take the shot,” Hazel offers, setting the shot back in front of Piper.

“Okay! To...actually, Annabeth you make the toast.”

“What?” Annabeth’s head snaps up having been distracted with the Aphrodite cabin’s rendition of “Say You’ll Be There.” 

“The maid of honor has to make a toast.”

“Not until the wedding,” Annabeth grumbles, snatching the tiny glass. She’s not in the mood to make a toast, because she knows the alcohol has made her more sappy than usual. She misses Percy, she misses her friends, and she misses when outings like this weren’t few and far between. “Okay, to Jason and his endless tolerance, courage, and ambition in taking on Piper as a wife!”

“Hey!” Piper scowls, but takes the shot anyway after the glasses clink together and slosh tequila across the table. “Okay, I have one.”

Annabeth arches an eyebrow as Rachel motions for another shot.

“To Annabeth and Percy,” Piper says, seriously. “The best people I know who deserve  _ alllllllll _ the happiness in the world.”

“Absolutely,” Rachel and the others affirm, and they knock their shots back. 

Annabeth blames the sting in her eyes on one shot too many, but Piper wraps her in a warm hug and the sting turns to full on burning and she is not  _ seriously _ going to cry right now…

“I love you,” Piper slurs. “And I mean that sober, too.”

“I know,” Annabeth laughs. “I love you, too, you idiot.”

“Let’s call Percy,” Piper suddenly suggests, wiping tears of her own. She knows what July means, knows what they looked like when they stumbled out of Tartarus and into the war with Gaea and into the battle to heal in the five years since.

“You mean Jason?”

“No! Percy! Jason is definitely asleep right now. It’s like after 10 p.m. in San Fran --  _ waaaaaaay  _ past his bedtime,” Piper explains, climbing onto the stool with Annabeth and sitting in her lap so they can both see the screen.

“Percy worked all day yesterday. He’s probably in a post-shift coma.” Annabeth tries to snatch the phone from Piper’s hand, but it’s too late, she’s already started the FaceTime call.

“Pipes?” Percy asks cautiously as his face comes on the screen. He’s propped up in a mass of pillows, hair standing up in every direction. His eyes are a little bleary, sea-green tinged with red, and his face is coated with day-old stubble that Annabeth pretends to hate.

“Well hello there, good-looking!” Piper whistles, and Annabeth rolls her eyes even though she gets it, she really does. “You missed your girlfriend killing it on stage earlier. She helped me bring in quite a few tips!”

Percy’s eyes get a little wider and he sits up straighter in bed. Annabeth can see that he’s not wearing a shirt, which means so can Piper, who turns to Annabeth and gives her a thumbs up directly in line of the phone camera.

“On stage? Tips?” Percy repeats. He doesn’t sound the least bit concerned, but he definitely sounds intrigued, and it sends a rush of heat to her stomach.

“Oh. Karaoke. Sorry, I should’ve clarified that. Stripping isn’t until my  _ actual _ bachelorette party,” Piper assures him.

“That’s good to know,” he chuckles. “Where is Annabeth?”

“Right here! Sorry, I’m in her lap and probably blocking her view.” Piper moves her phone a little to the left so that Annabeth’s face comes into focus.

Percy arches an eyebrow, but gives her a crooked grin. “Hey there. Having a good time?”

“You know it,” she replies, ignoring the flush creeping up her neck. “I miss you.”

“I miss you. Come home to me,” he suggests, his tone a little more melancholy. 

“Can’t. The tips here are just too good to pass up.” She lets the flirtation slip before she remembers that Piper is in fact sitting in her lap and is also holding the phone and can therefore hear everything that’s going on. 

“Is that right?” Percy on the other hand, does not mind open flirtation one bit; it’s his favorite thing about drunk Annabeth. “Anything I can do to make you change your mind?”

“Well.” Annabeth falters, from the liquor and the potential answers to his question and Piper’s excitement.

“Don’t stop now!” Piper scolds her. “Please, you act as if this is anything new to anybody here. We all know how into each other you are.”

“Okay, but how could I not be?” Annabeth argues, then remembers again that Percy is seeing and hearing all of this when he laughs.

“You make a valid point,” Piper says, looking back at the phone. “Percy, we’ll have her home to you in less than an hour.”

“Oh?” Percy asks.

“Yes, you have to give me time to try and make a move on her, convince her to do a body shot, and then also get her into a cab.”

Percy gives Piper that same crooked grin that makes Annabeth want to die on the spot. “Pipes, have I told you lately that you’re my favorite?”

“It’s a given,” she says, and ends the call.

 

* * *

True to her word, the cab arrives outside Percy and Annabeth’s apartment complex 51 minutes after her phone call with Percy. 

“Where are you guys going?” Annabeth asks Piper and Rachel. Katie had stayed behind to keep an eye on the rest of the Aphrodite cabin and they’d already dropped Hazel off, leaving just the three of them remaining outside Annabeth’s apartment.

“Back to my hotel to call Jason and convince him to have phone sex with me,” Piper answers. The cab driver coughs.

Rachel grins. “I will not be partaking in that, so probably back to my apartment.”

“Do you guys want to come up for a bit? Percy misses you guys just as much as I do.” Annabeth suddenly does not want the night to end. As much as she wants Percy, she misses her friends, and the melancholy of the evening has gotten to her. 

“I’m in town for three more days,” Piper says. “I told Chiron I would come visit camp. Come with me! We’ll round up who we can and celebrate your birthday early.”

Annabeth brightens. “Deal.”

“Now, get upstairs and make us proud!” Piper salutes, pushing Annabeth from the cab. Annabeth offers a salute back, before keying in the access code to her building. 

“Tell us everything tomorrow!” Piper calls as the cab drives off and Annabeth shuts the door behind her. She takes her heels off before trekking up the stairs, holding the railing for support more than she’d like to admit. She practically throws herself into the apartment, dropping her shoes, keys, and purse near the door. She’s exhausted and most definitely, 100%, totally drunk, teetering the fine line of passing out or being able to rally.

When she enters their bedroom, Percy is exiting the bathroom with a towel draped loosely around his hips and a toothbrush hanging from his mouth.

Rallying, she decides. Definitely rallying.

“Hey,” he greets her, toothbrush still in his mouth. “Have fun?”

“Yes,” she says, watching him as he moves to the bathroom to finish brushing his teeth. “Did we wake you?”

“Nah, yesterday at the station wasn’t all that busy so my nap wasn’t too intense,” he says, shutting the faucet off. He reappears in the doorway, towel still hanging precariously low around his hips. She wonders if he’s doing this on purpose, but is more willing to bet he’s oblivious. “Karaoke, huh?”

“Carrie Underwood,” Annabeth confirms, not missing the way his gaze drops to her legs. She’s in a black dress that is definitely shorter and tighter than normal. “Piper’s pick.”

“The song or the dress?” 

“Both,” she replies.

“Need any help getting it off?” He swallows. 

“No, I think I got it,” Annabeth says, reaching behind her and freeing the clasp before pulling the zipper down. “Thanks, though.”

“Don’t mention it.” He knows what she’s doing, knows she’s teasing him and riling him up until she’s satisfied with how frustrated he is.

“Piper’s heading to Camp tomorrow night,” Annabeth tells him nonchalantly. “Are you off?”

“Sunday and Monday. Not Saturday,” he answers automatically, but his eyes are watching her slip out of the dress, darkening with every move she makes. “I can meet you up there if you’d rather head up with her.”

“Are you off for my birthday?” She prolongs the conversation, pulling her earrings out and placing them on her nightstand before climbing into bed.  

“Of course. Figured we could go to Montauk,” he offers, but his voice falters just a bit as she stretches out on the bed. 

“Montauk,” Annabeth repeats. Just the waves and Percy and peace and no nightmares, she hopes, and pushes the thought from her mind before it has a chance to pull her under. Not with the way Percy’s eyes zero in on her; not when she’s had such a good night.

“Would you prefer something different?” Percy asks as he stretches his arms over his head, loosening his tired muscles. Annabeth lets her eyes roam from his shoulders down to where the towel still covers the v of his abs. 

“Drop the towel,” she tells him. 

“This towel?” His green eyes are twinkling. 

“Get over here.”

“And if I don’t?” 

“Then I can just take care of myself,” she breathes. He’s not going to turn this around, not tonight. Not when she needs him to be worked up and in charge to keep her mind clear. 

He freezes, watching as her right hand travels from her ribcage to her hip, fingertips dipping inside the black lace. She parts her lips, rolls her hips, and that’s all it takes. The towel is on the floor and Percy is on her in a matter of seconds, tongue in her mouth and hands shoving the lace to the side as his fingers push into her.

His free hand tangles in her hair and he tugs just a little, testing her, seeing if this is where she wants him to go. When she moans, he pulls a little harder, dragging his lips down her neck to her clavicle. 

She shoves her fingers through his still damp hair and roughly pulls him toward her, pressing her lips to his ear. “More,” she rasps.

He pushes a third finger inside of her and her hips stutter against him, and it feels good, feels so good, but it’s not enough. She can still hear her mind over her pounding heart, and she doesn’t want to think, doesn’t want to feel like she’s falling.

She whines at the loss of contact when he pulls away and his fingers slide out of her. Her eyes snap open so she can glare at him, but she feels him lift her hips from the bed, yanking the lace down her her legs. She gets a good look at his face, eyes blown with lust and face flushed from the heat, and she thinks she might be on fire.

“Make me come, until I beg you to stop.” 

She needs this, needs him, and her words seem to compel him to move faster. His rough hands slide up her thighs, hips, over her ribs and his head dips down to her stomach, tongue and teeth winding her tighter and tighter as he works his way down. She feels bursts of air against her navel and...then she realizes he’s chuckling.

“What is it?” She hisses, thinking tonight is the night she might actually have to kill him.

“You taste like salt,” he murmurs. “Body shot?”

She nods, bottom lip caught between her teeth.

“There a video?”

“Earn it.”

His crooked grin tells her that thinking won’t be a problem anymore tonight.

 

* * *

 

 

**v.**

“Not too shabby, old man,” Annabeth says, standing in front of him and shielding her eyes from the sun beating down into the arena. It’s unseasonably hot for June, and Percy thinks Apollo needs to chill the fuck out if he’s going to make it through sparring with the next round of demigods without melting or passing out.

“Old man?” Percy scoffs, pulling the armor from his chest so he can breathe. He doesn’t miss the way Annabeth gives him a once over.  “I don’t see you out here gracing these kids with your brilliant Daughter-of-Athena-battle-skills.”

“I’m busy,” she replies, waving scrolls of blueprints in his face. “I need to get these sketches finalized for Chiron.”

“Excuses, Wise Girl.” 

“Don’t make me kick your ass in front of all these new campers.”

“That’s just code for you on top.” He winks at her as a new group of campers shuffles toward the arena battleground. Their excited chatter dies down as they get closer to Annabeth and Percy. They’re used to the way new campers grow silent around them, intimidated by their reputation.

“In your dreams, Seaweed Brain,” she taps the scrolls of paper against his head. “Put your armor back on before the Aphrodite cabin drowns in their drool.”

Percy glances over at a group of giggling girls clustered together in the crowd and blushes. “Yeah, whatever.”

“I’ll see you at dinner,” Annabeth promises, checking him out one last time before he pulls the armor back over his chest. 

“Are you asking me out?” 

This causes another round of giggles from the Aphrodite campers. Annabeth rolls her eyes, stands on her toes and brushes a quick kiss to his jaw, before heading toward the Big House to find Chiron. Percy watches her go, trying to ignore the unease settling in his chest. They are two days from the ten year anniversary of The Fall, and he’s waiting to open his eyes and find out the last decade has been a lie, that they’ve been wandering through Tartarus this whole time, chasing some delusion of surviving.

He rolls his shoulders out and raises his sword to the campers.

“Who’s first?”

 

* * *

 

He finds her after dinner at their spot down by the lake, with her toes tucked into the sand as the sun sets over the camp, her grey eyes burning a hole into the orange and pink swirls. He knows the look on her face - has seen it so often over the years when she’s strategizing or studying or working on a sketch - and he wonders if he should leave her to whatever brilliance he’s sure she’s in the middle of.

“You proposed to me here,” she says, startling him.

“Nearly a year ago to the day” he affirms, striding toward her and sitting down in the sand next to her, brushing his leg against hers. “Think we should set a date at some point before my mom and our friends take matters into their own hands?”

She laughs softly, letting her head rest on his shoulder and he is instantly a teenager again, wondering if it’s okay to put his arm around her and whether or not they’re going to get caught up past curfew. A lifetime ago. More than a decade ago.

She squeezes his hand as if she senses the change in his thought process, like she’s telling him not to go there.

“What are they doing up there?” She murmurs into his neck.

“Clarisse is helping them get ready for capture the flag,” Percy scoffs. “As if they stand a chance.”

“Some rivalries never die, huh?” He feels her smile against his skin and it sends a jolt of warmth straight to his heart.

“Bragging rights are bragging rights, Chase,” he says. “Besides, someone had to lead a team since you opted out this year. What gives?”

“Too busy,” she answers, but her voice wavers and he pulls away to get a good look at her face. “Plus, I figured your team needed a break from losing.”

“What’s wrong?” He ignores her attempt to cover up whatever she’s hiding and thinks over how absent she’s been from the camp activities since they arrived. He knows she’s helping Chiron with plans for expansions and renovations, but he doesn’t think it’s enough to warrant the distance she’s created in the last 24 hours. Especially not when she’s the one who practically begged him to change his PTO from her birthday to this weekend.

“Just tired is all.”

“Annabeth,” he warns.

He can see her face in the moonlight, still pensive, still determined, staring him down. She leans forward on her knees, capturing his face between her hands and kissing him searing and deep. His hands fall to her hips, barely hanging onto the thought that something is wrong and he needs her to tell him what it is.

Her hands move from his face to his chest, nails scratching over the fabric of his t-shirt as his hands slide to her ass, when they both hear someone closing in.

They spring apart, like two teenagers caught, and Percy is smacked with deja vu having experienced this same moment roughly a thousand times over the course of his years spent at camp trying to get alone time with his girlfriend.

Percy waits for Chiron to appear, but two campers stumble into sight, hands locked together as they scan their environment nervously. Annabeth stifles her laugh, but the campers see them and freeze.

“Uh…h-hi?” The boy stutters.

Percy doesn’t recognize him, but the girl he’s with is definitely a daughter of Athena judging by her reaction to Annabeth.

“We won’t tell if you don’t?” Annabeth offers, shrugging her shoulders.

“We were just going for a walk is all,” the girl defends, brushing her blonde hair from her face and avoiding Annabeth’s eyes.

“Well, I have taken plenty of walks,” Annabeth starts, grey eyes twinkling. “And trust me, Chiron made an appearance at least half the time, so good luck.”

“Right, we’re just gonna go back up to the mess hall now.” The boy turns on his heel, grabbing for the Athena camper’s hand.

“I think you effectively ruined any chance at romance once you mentioned Chiron,” Percy tells her. “Do you know how hard it is to get a daughter of Athena down here?”

“You had your own cabin and I had an invisibility cap,” Annabeth quips, starting back toward the cabins. “I don’t recall you putting forth much effort.”

“Pretty sure you just called yourself easy.”

She turns on her heel at that, but Percy dodges her, expecting the reaction. He flicks his wrist, causing a small spray of water to catch Annabeth’s bare legs. He keeps it up, splashing her every time she feints toward him, until she throws her hands up and heads in the opposite direction. He hangs back for a few seconds in anticipation of a trap, but she keeps moving forward and he realizes he’s already fallen into the trap by ignoring whatever it is that’s bothering her. 

Percy jogs toward her, catching her shoulder just as they crest over the hill to see the swarm of campers headed from the amphitheater and toward their respective cabins. 

“Annabeth, I know that - “

“There you are!” 

“Hey Chiron,” Annabeth greets him with genuine enthusiasm. Percy sees the relief on her face.

“Percy, I hear a congratulations is in order?”

“Uh?” Percy looks at Annabeth, weirded out a little by the joyous look on Chiron’s face.

“Because your team is favored to win capture the flag tomorrow, Seaweed Brain,” Annabeth says, rolling her eyes. He feels like he’s missing something, especially with the way Chiron’s enthusiasm seems to recede.

“I wouldn’t miss a chance to hold a victory over Clarisse’s head,” he says, eyeing them both warily.

“No, of course not.” Chiron shakes his head. “Can I steal Annabeth for a few minutes?”

“Sure,” Percy replies, because what else can he say? He gives Annabeth a look, one that says he’s not dropping this, and heads toward Cabin 3 with a weight on his shoulders that he hasn’t felt in some time.

He sits down on the bed, unmade from the night before, and puts his head in his hands as ten years of feelings threaten to boil to the surface. The nightmares have subsided over the years, becoming a rarity instead of a routine, but there are still days where he sees that tired look in Annabeth’s eyes, feels the darkness pulsing through his veins and begging him to give in.

The door to his cabin swings open, startling him into a standing position.

“What are you doing?” Annabeth asks him, brows furrowed together in concern.

“Waiting on you.”

“Sorry, Chiron just had a few questions about some of the logistics of the designs,” she says, sitting down on the bed in front of him. “Are you okay?”

“Are you?” He asks, studying her face. “You’re acting off lately. Is it because...?”

She drops her head, brushing her curls to one side and licking her lips, busying herself with brushing away the sand from her calves and feet.

“It’s not entirely because of that.”

“Not entirely?” He exhales a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. 

“It’s been a decade, Percy, so yes...that is making me think a lot about that and the time between. How could it not?” She sighs. “But this has more to do with us...now.”

He steels himself against her words. He knows he shouldn’t panic, shouldn’t think the worst, but he can’t help it given the circumstances. He immediately looks to her left hand, to the ring on her finger, and wonders if it was too much.

“Don’t freak out.”

“I’m not freaking out,” he lies.

“You’re totally freaking out. Just don’t...not yet.”

“Not yet?” He paces across the floor of the cabin. His panic is starting to turn to irritation as he thinks of all the things she could say to him. “That’s not too comforting, Annabeth.”

“Whatever you are thinking, I can promise you that it’s not that.” Her voice is level, tired.

“You’re doing such a great job convincing me of that.” He wants to believe her, he really does, but with the way she’s dancing around the subject, he’s more inclined to believe it’s something that’s going to devastate him. With all the history between them and years before and after Tartarus, Percy  _ knows _ Annabeth, so figuring out that she’s lying isn’t the hard part; it’s the why she’s lying that puzzles him.

She stands up, crosses into his pacing path, and grabs his wrists before pressing her palms against his and locking their fingers together. He feels the engagement ring pressing against their entwined hands, and he can’t help the way the corner of his mouth twitches in an almost-smile. She stares at him, compelling him to focus on her, to lose and find himself in her grey eyes all at once. 

“Whatever it is - “ he starts.

“I’m pregnant,” she finishes.

His mouth snaps shut and they stand together, hands still entwined, as Percy takes so long to process what she’s just said that her eyes start to shine with tears. He pulls his hands away from hers, takes a step back, and just marvels at her.

“Percy,” she says, voice wavering ever so slightly with uncertainty at his silence. They’ve talked about this, briefly, and she knows it’s something he’s always wanted, has been waiting for her to want, but the reality of a dream can be much different. “I really need you to not be speechless right now.”

“You’re pregnant,” he repeats. “You’re sure?”

“I took a test,” she replies, voice barely stronger than a whisper. “I took four tests actually, and I went to the doctor.”

“And you’re pregnant.”

“Roughly ten weeks.” Her voice gets edgier, as she starts to cycle from concerned to afraid to angry at his inability to say more than four words per sentence.

“Down by the lake,” he muses, stepping toward her. “That’s what you wanted to say. And that weird thing with Chiron earlier.”

“I figured it was the best spot to tell you. Significance, and all.” She watches him run his hands through his hair, pulling at the spot where the grey streak has all but faded.

“Ten weeks, huh?”

“Percy - “ she clips, ready to rip into him, when he swoops forward, hands under the backs of her thighs as he lifts her up. Her legs circle his waist for balance as he starts to laugh, dropping his forehead against hers. His sea green eyes twinkle as tears start to form and her heart swells, her whole body warms, thrumming with the absolute joy she can feel radiating off him.

“I love you,” he breathes, pressing quick and excited kisses to her forehead, her temples, her nose, her cheeks, and finally her lips. “I love you so much.”

She laughs into his kiss, threading her hands through his dark hair as he holds onto her, to both of them, like he’ll never let go. He looks at her with more hope and adoration in his eyes than she’s ever seen, and she knows,  _ knows _ with everything in her that the pain from the last ten plus years has all been worth it.

He holds her, thinking of a decade ago, trudging through Tartarus, when the thought of sons and daughters first crossed his mind, cutting through the darkness and willing him to keep fighting, to keep pushing forward.

Ten years later, and Percy knows,  _ knows  _ with everything in him that this is not surviving, that this must be living.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. I tried to take canon timeline into account, but I apologize for any mistakes.  
> 2\. Percy is a firefighter because after reading it in some of the greatest PJO fics over the years, it just seems natural.  
> 3\. This started as five different ideas for one-shots that made more sense as a cohesive post-Tartarus fic.  
> 4\. Thank you for reading!


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